[Canibus]
Can I rip it? //
Can I rip it? //
Can I rip it? //
Well, I’m gone! //

[Canibus]
Yo,
My brain races to create these lyrical mosaics, like paintings //
To me, record stores and art galleries are merely the same thing //
I feel like I’m Rembrandt and my man Van Gogh is a Mason //
Canibus is not some average rap patron, have some patience //
I went through changes not being with the majors and all //
‘Til my man Louis Lombard gave me a call //
And talked about some other way to cake off //
I thought, hmm, I could make more? He said, “Sure //
I could put you in about three thousand stores and get at least fifty thousand orders //
Maybe more ‘Bis. Who knows your fan base is enormous” //
Well of course, look who I’ve toured with...Wyclef //
I didn’t sell twenty million ‘cause it wasn’t my time yet //
I’m satisfied with the lineup I’ve rhymed with //
Kool G. Rap, Pharaohe Monch and Rakim //
Including future superstars I’ve worked with thus far //
Like Free from ‘106 and Park’ //
You need to understand something, ‘Bis is raw //
Raw to the floor, raw like ‘Reservoir Dogs’ //
And mechanical mandible jaws split you in half //
Addicted to ripping jackers but I’ll rip a jackass //
Before we battle there’s two questions I have to ask //
Are you carrying any firearms and did you pack your bags? //
Cool, ‘cause I’m gonna make you feel real bad //
And I’m gonna make you so mad that you’ll probably spaz //
I can see you trying to get me like they got Biggie //
Somewhere in the city on a pretty day when I’m dressing jiggy //
And I’ve got security with me //
I’ll give you a buck fifty so quickly you won’t even notice your nose dripping //
So much blood on the floor you might as well be pretending to be mud wrestling //
A dozen bitches P-M-S-ing. Sounds kind of tempting doesn’t it? //
Dissing me wasn’t really worth it, was it? I’m buggin’ //
I know a lot of ya’ll loved it and tried to convince the public to say, “Fuck ‘Bis!” //
But just think, I played ya’ll like a bunch of puppets //
You played Russian Roulette with a musket and got busted in your own nugget //
A Twenty-one Gun Salute with no bullets and no trumpets //
While the rain pours and the storm thunders //
Your rotting carcass smells so pungent it turns my stomach //
Attracts the buzzards and Fox Eyewitness News coverage //
Rip the Jacker’s on the loose in London //
He slipped through U.S. customs and flew to Dublin //
Frontin’ as a janitor in a school or something //
Working for little or nothing, I’m warning you don’t trust him //
He’s a complete risk to the American public //
And don’t ever call the law ‘cause he thinks he’s above it //
Let’s get one thing straight //
You can’t touch him, outsmart him, out muscle him, or out hustle him //
You can’t beat him? Join him. You can’t join him? Fuck him! //
Can-I-Bus //
Either you hate him or you love him //

[Canibus]
Yeah, Yeah //
I seen you at Ruby Tuesdays with a toupee //
Talking on your two-way, you look gay //
Nigga, I don’t give a fuck about the games you play //
I’ll gnaw on your bones ‘til my teeth turn blue-gray //
Or turn yellow like I ain’t brushed in a few days //
And the blood starts to taste like red toothpaste //
Nigga, this ain’t communion and that ain’t Kool-Aide //
Delicacies the F.D.A. won’t approve in the states //
Like a little witch’s brew in your vanilla latte //
Or perhaps fillet of dog in a Malaysian café //
If I was a cook I would probably take a half day //
Clock out and never come back, you keep the back pay //
That’s some metaphorical shit, are you happy? //
Is that why you weirdoes are all attracted to me? //
Look at yourself, why you even listen to me? //
Listen to yourself, you’re constantly dissing me //
Well, listen to this, bitch. Get off my D! //
If you don’t think I’m the illest, that’s cool. I don’t agree //
I’ve proved myself time and time again //
Rippin’ mics like Heinikens, who want me to rhyme again? //
You could never expire the fire within //
Killing me with a gun is easy, try a pen //
For the use it was intended //
I don’t like to be the one to start the drama nigga, but I know how to end it //
Kill yourself, I’ll take the credit. Get it? //
You see, that way things couldn’t work out more pleasant” //